An Unorthodox Solution
by Daystar Searcher
Summary: Post-Purgatory, Pre-Vanishing Act: Bobby has a plan to make it up to Eames.


**Disclaimer: They're not mine. You can tell because horrible things stopped happening to them. (Actually, horrible things will not be happening to them in this story. Gosh, I hope I'm not getting sick or anything.)**

"Eames?"

She kept her gaze on the paper before her. _Form for the Reimbursement of Funds Pertaining to…_

She'd always hated her handwriting. Clumsy kindergartner scrawlings, every uncertain vowel and consonant betraying the awkward way she held the pen.

_(2:30 pm – One hour late. _

_no call)_

The childish 'c's and 'o's yet another chink she couldn't afford in armor that had seen far too much wear lately.

"C-can I talk to you for a minute?"

_No._

"Sure."

She didn't look up.

His voice rose, wavered. "C-can I talk to you…not here?"

_Keep the voice crisp, keep it professional. Keep it locked up safe and sound and far, far away from him._

She was _not _going to cry again. Or even almost cry.

"Nothing's wrong with here."

_Nothing was wrong with the diner, either. Nothing was wrong with picking up your goddamn phone. _

_You don't get to suddenly decide when and where to be forthcoming._

It wasn't that she wanted to be angry with him, still.

(ever)

But he hadn't even tried to apologize, after the first time. Hanging back behind someone passive-aggressively boring a hole in their head with puppy dog eyes was not an apology.

He was tilting his head across the desk at her now, trying to catch her gaze. "I just—can we go to the conference room? Please?"

_Oh, fuck it all to hell and put a bow on top. _She slapped her pen down and stood, scraping her chair back with a suddenness that made Goren jump a little. "Fine."

xxxxx

The door clicked shut behind her, Bobby fussing with the blinds. Eames put her hands on her hips. "Okay, Goren, what n—"

He kissed her.

It was an ambush of a kiss: hands gripped her shoulders, a hasty swooping motion, his lips pressed clumsily but firmly to hers—and then he let go and shuffled quickly backwards, hands up as if to ward off a sudden blow.

"_What the hell—"_

"I sexually harassed you."

He said that like it was supposed to be an explanation. A strong urge to convey to him with her fists and possibly a pair of scissors that it was no such thing flitted through Eames' mind, but she settled for gaping at him as though he had…as though he had…as though he had done something as thoroughly ridiculous and impossible as what he had just done.

"Yes, I got that," she said when it became apparent that Bobby did not deem further clarification necessary. "Would you care to elaborate—for those of us still living on planet Earth--_why_?"

"So you can get a new partner."

"And you want me to get a new partner because…"

He mumbled something.

"What?"

He tried to look at his shoes, but Eames stepped directly in front him to block his view, and he settled for looking at a point just above her left ear. "_You _want a new partner."

"You're going to have to do better than that, Bobby."

He bit his lip, and for a moment she thought she was going to have to smack him like a recalcitrant computer to get him to function, and then the words rushed out: "I messed up. I really, really messed up and now you won't even look at me or talk to me like we used to and I don't know how to do this if you're not going to, to, to look or me or talk to me like we used to. And you want a new partner but you can't ask because nobody else gets why after seven years of putting up with me this is even a big deal. And you're not going to lie and make up a reason, because you don't do that. So I sexually harassed you, because I've never done that before—at least I don't think I've ever done that before, except I used to push the married couple aliases when we went undercover, so maybe I did, and I'm really, really sorry—but now you have a reason that they'll understand, and you can save face, and not lie. So you can go ask Ross now. For a new partner."

_What…the…hell…_

Eames crossed her arms. "Bobby, this isn't a fairytale. I'm pretty sure Ross isn't going to buy that the spell binding us together was magically broken by just a kiss."

"Oh." Bobby shuffled his feet. He tried to look down at his shoes again, and accidentally met her eyes before jerking his gaze away. "Should I, um…grab you, or—something…?"

"_No."_ He flinched a little at the ice in her voice. "You should not, under any circumstances, do that, unless you want to take up a career as a soprano."

"Um, well, actually, if you did something—n-not _that_, but if you punched me in the face or kneed me, or something—it would make it more believable."

She stared at him. "You actually mean this, don't you?"

"Of course I do!" He sounded hurt.

"You actually analyzed the situation and decided that the only solution was to sexually harass me in the most G-rated way possible, and then have me beat the shit out of you and request a new partner? Probably getting you investigated by the IAB in the process?"

"Uh…yeah."

It was almost sweet, in an incredibly fucked-up way.

"Oh, no." She grabbed his arm. "You don't get out of it that easily."

"What—"

She opened the door, dragging a very confused Bobby Goren with her. "This is a partnership. It's important. We work at it. We _make_ it work."

"But—"

"You don't get to run away and play martyr just because it gets hard."

"You want me to stay…"

She wanted to make a snappy remark about so-called geniuses, but settled for a long-suffering sigh. "Yes. Of course I do." She sat, shuffling her papers. It was suddenly hard to look at him. There was a lump in her throat. It was ridiculous. "Do your goddamn paperwork."

There was a long pause. "Okay."

And it was. Or at least, it would be.

**A.N.: Wow, that was way too fluffy for me. I need to go torture Eames for awhile to get the taste of sugar out of my mouth.**


End file.
